


The Newsies Night Before Christmas

by StoryWitch



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 00:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13135650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryWitch/pseuds/StoryWitch
Summary: When Spot spends Christmas Eve at the Duane Street lodging house, he witnesses a touching scene and learns a valuable lesson.





	The Newsies Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas,  
Duane Street lodging house  
Not a newsie was stirring  
Nor flea, tick, or louse  
By the fire escape, foul old socks hung with care  
To dissolve the aromas with a bit of fresh air  
The newsies were shivering, cold in their bunks  
Their cards and cigars hid away in their trunks  
They were pondering something their visitor said  
And his bitter scorn weighed on their young hearts like lead  
It was worse than the hunger, and worse than the cold:  
"Fer da newsies, what meanin' does Christmas time hold?"  
But finally, after they'd pondered and wept,  
The room full of newsies uneasily slept  
When there came from the fire escape such a clatter,  
Spot sprang from his bunk to see what was the matter  
Away to the window he flew with his cane  
And pushed out the glass in the loose windowpane  
The smog-shadowed moon on the dirty grey snow  
Gave off just enough light in the darkness to show  
The distinctively rickety, spindly shape  
Of a ladder that leaned on the fire escape  
And, scaling the ladder, so quick for his years  
Was old Mr. Kloppman, ignoring all fears  
More rapid than eagles, his hands grasped each rung  
Till he saw the long string where the stockings all hung:  
"Here, Cowboy! Here, Racetrack! Here, Blink, Mush, and Crutchy!  
Here, Snoddy! Here, Swifty! Here, Bumlets and Dutchy!  
Here your dreams are fulfilled! Here your wishes come true!  
I have money, and candy, and presents for you!"  
As a newsie, though tired from the work of the day  
Will race back to the lodging house, home now to stay  
So this man, though quite weary, for late was the night  
Pulled himself up the ladder with all of his might  
And the spy at the window flinched, hearing the moans  
As arthritis pained all of the poor old man's bones  
But, keeping his eyes from the faraway ground  
To the fire escape Kloppman came with a bound  
His white hair was tangled, his wise face was lined  
His coat, it was tattered, but his eyes, they were kind  
And under his arm, for his house full of boys  
Bulged a patched, ragged bundle of small, modest toys  
The cold-how he shivered-his clothing, how dirty!  
His gifts, they were few, and the stockings were thirty  
His scarf he wore not, but so brightly he smiled  
For it lay in the bundle for one lucky child  
His spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose,  
And his cheeks flushed with cold, each as red as a rose  
His form was too thin, for his bread and his fruits  
Went to Tumbler and Slider, Snipeshooter and Boots  
And when the mighty Spot Conlon beheld him outside,  
He dropped all bravado, and broke down and cried  
But then old Kloppman's gaze, ever stern and precise  
Bade him not to shed tears for this great sacrifice  
He turned then to the socks, disregarding the lad  
And he cheerfully filled them with all that he had  
He gave a brief nod to his witness, and then  
The top rung of the ladder he mounted again  
And he swiftly descended, and vanished from sight  
Down into the deep snow, and the dark winter night  
And the leader of Brooklyn who watched from above  
Knew that even for newsies, there is Christmas, and love.


End file.
